Casual Entanglement
by Big Rando
Summary: Originally written for my friend, but she insisted I post here. This is a one-shot smut fic written in the wee hours of the morning on a whim using my friend's Medic OC (Reinhard) and Spy OC (Cyrille). Medic and Spy have been "buddies" for awhile. This is just one of their hook-up nights, what can I say. This thing is porn-tastic so watch your eyeballs, kiddies.


The room was bathed in a cleanly fluorescent glow. Bleached white and clear like the driven snow.

The thin man entered the room with confidence. He furrowed his brow as he gazed at his target's back, but under the guise of the massive Russian; his motives were hidden.

The German stood over the cool metal table, pouring over textbooks and paperwork. He exhaled: the sigh of one strained. Rubbing his eyes, he peered to the window. Velvet midnight was warring with the artificial gleam.

He jolted. Footsteps behind him. Spinning on his heel, he eyed the intruder.

"You step far too lightly to be Herr Heavy, Cyrille," The Medic was unamused at best.

Both stunned and affronted, the man exposed the truth. "I'm a more convincing Heavy than yours could ever be," The Spy pouted. He was younger then the Medic and lacked his balaclava. His crimson suit was immaculate and well kept.

"It's late, and you shouldn't be here," The Medic said in his usual stern tone. He was without his medical overcoat and his sleeves were sloppily rolled to his elbows. Long nights made him someone else but mostly less concerned with appearances.

"Then I should be going-," The Spy uttered, nostrils flaring.

"Won't you stay for a moment?" The German's expression softened. Leisurely, he strode back to his desk, running his fingertips to polished surface.

Cyrille was quiet, but obliged. He perched himself on the desk's edge typically to the Medic's distaste. Reinhard's annoyance was truly delicious, but he face remained serene.

Without a word, Reinhard pressed his hand to the center of Cyrille's chest, laying him with his back to the desk. Though the Spy was confused; he did not protest. The German's expression was eerily calm.

The Medic leaned over the Spy and scrutinized the man below him.

"It wasn't smart coming here at night-," His voice was even. He leaned closer "But I suppose I could make it worth your while." He crooned gently in Cyrille's ear. The hair on the younger man's neck prickled.

Reinhard observed the reaction; he felt a raise in his chest and he chuckled darkly. What would happen if he prodded further… The Medic licked the Frenchman's cheek. Cyrille exhaled sharply, but couldn't bring himself to move. After the months of taunting Reinhard, flirting; the Spy wanted this. He needed it.

The German pulled back and gazed over Cyrille again.

"You have remarkable bone structure," he remarked softly.

A smile crept to the Spy's lips. "Much appreciated," He replied, staring directly at the man above.

Cyrille wouldn't allow the Medic to pace, but he was always too slow: unwilling to jump. Wait and see he would say; it took him long enough to get to this point.

The Spy grasped the blue silk of Reinhard's tie and pulled him swiftly.

Their lips met, both ferociously and tenderly. The Medic's arms quavered atop the Spy; his need was overwhelming. Cyrille tugged at the German's lower lip with his teeth. In response, Reinhard's motions intensified, roughly now.

Their eyes meet again. The older man quivered as the Frenchman rans his straying fingers through his hair. With the other, the Spy freed the buttons of the German's shirt.

These seconds felt tremendous, Reinhard couldn't wait anymore. He buried his face in the Spy neck and nipped gently.

His hands raced across the Spy's body. In moments, every button separating them had been undone. Reinhard trailed his fingers down Cyrille's bare chest. Needy fingers crept lower and lower, below and beyond the belt.

The Spy threw his head back, heat flushing into his cheeks.

"Is that all you have, old man?" Cyrille taunted.

The Medic bit hard into the Frenchman's shoulder.

The Spy gasped.

"That's more like it," The younger man replied.

The Spy ripped the shirt from Reinhard and tossed it across the room. He pulled at the German's belt buckle and freed him. With the pressure alleviated, the older man grunted.

With tattered breath and fevered enthusiasm the pair fought away from their clothing. Every drop savored like champagne.

Cyrille wrapped his arms around the Medic's torso. "Get going—will you?" He purred in the German's ear.

His fingers wrapped around Cyrille, and hungrily he grasped and tugged.

The Medic's expression was of raw, determined passion. He thrust himself into the Spy: putting the arrogant Frenchman in his place.

Eyes firing open, the Frenchman inhaled. His back arched against the desk and he gasped "Excellent—for a woman." Cyrille clenched a fistful of the Medic's hair.

Reinhard pressed deeper against the Spy, intensifying with every thrust. Sweat poured from the German's brow and dropped to Cyrille's chest.

The Medic's arms quivered as indescribable pleasure soared from his trunk through his entire body. He shook harder as he tried to keep his stride; Reinhard had to prove he could follow through. He lowered himself; he lay on the Spy: skin against skin.

Nails carved Reinhard's back. With eyes pressed shut, Cyrille moaned, carefully minding his volume. In the inferno's heat, the pair were reaching a summit that threatened to devour them whole.

They made the final charge.

Muscle clenched. Joints flexed. Blood ran like liquid fire through engorged veins. The sweat of both bodies mingled as one. Each twisted in the most exquisite of agonies; they made crying pleas in their release.

Then it was over.

Reinhard collapsed upon Cyrille. The Spy laid back, as the Medic set his head on the Frenchman's heaving chest. They embraced in the exhausted warmth, but remained silent, say for their haggard breath.

…

"I should be leaving," The Frenchman said bluntly, as he finished his cigarette.

The Medic climbed off, still a little weak in his knees. Reinhard grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped himself off. He handed the rag to the Spy.

Cyrille's eyes widened and his lips spread into a hard line.

"What is it?" Reinhard asked.

"You wiped your filthy body with _my_ shirt," Cyrille growled, tearing the expensive linen from him.

"So I won't see you tomorrow?" The German asked, oblivious of his heinous crime.

Angrily, the Spy dressed himself and left.

_"I guess there was no right way to do this,"_ Reinhard thought to himself with an adjustment of his glasses.


End file.
